


i will bless her

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Future Fic, Kid Fic, Mild Blood, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doctor sighs. “You women never cease to amaze. Four children, Viscount. You should count yourself blessed she hasn’t strangled you in your sleep.”</p><p>“I’m sure she’s tried,” Varric says without a beat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. kirkwall's favorite family

**Author's Note:**

> i sort of consider this within the same universe as my "now i feel so capable", my bran/hawke fic. title from the book of Genesis, chapter 17, verses 16-19. "I will bless her, and indeed I will give you a son by her. Then I will bless her, and she shall be a mother of nations; kings of peoples will come from her."

“Whenever a woman is in labor she has pain, because her hour has come; but when she gives birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy that a child has been born into the world.” – John, 16:21

 

* * *

 

They were married in the summer, in the garden of the Kirkwall Chantry as the sun was beginning to set. Under the stars that evening, their friends had celebrated an almost impossible union, and the dancing and drinking and laughter had lasted well into the morning of the following day. Dorian had wept, Cullen had to be carried by the Iron Bull back to his room, and Blackwall and the Inquisitor danced without a care. The world, despite any and all misgivings, did, for one night, seem to stand still.

There was yet a battle to be fought. Varric’s history with the Inquisition and his new position as Viscount made him indispensable in the effort to find Solas. He was frequently either away from the city completely, or drowning in meetings. Cassandra found, in the first months of their marriage, that seeing her husband for more than a day at a time was a gift. She had great patience, however, as she often had when it came to Varric, no matter what sort of relationship they had. And, in time, the traveling dwindled down, the trips began to slow, and he had the luxury of ending his days early as spring began to bloom.

And though they were certainly married in the stifling heat of a Kirkwall summer, it came to pass that each of their children in turn was born, almost dutifully, in the dead of winter.

 

* * *

 

They called the first Marian.

It had been decided on the moment the healer told Cassandra she could expect a daughter. Varric had written to Hawke right away, told her of his intent, and received a strongly worded response in opposition. It hardly mattered. When Varric Tethras set out to do something, his wife knew he could rarely be talked out of it. And she certainly didn’t disapprove. Marian Hawke was a hero, both personal and nationally. To have their first named for her, whether to goad or honor, was a great privilege. And she, in turn, did not disappoint.

Their eldest was clever from the start, and _wild._ Her hair could not be tamed, her voice was too loud, and her words were beyond her age. She read at the age of three, she hung from the rafters at two, and she challenged passerby to swordfights all her years.

Their second was called Evelyn, and when the Inquisitor met her for the first time, she cried. Evelyn was different than Marian in all the ways that mattered. Quiet where her sister was loud, timid where Marian was precocious, disciplined where their eldest was not. She was two years younger, and Marian claimed to feel, from the moment of her birth, that her darling sister needed a great deal of protection. She insisted on a dog. Varric brought home a kitten sometime after the new year and was treated to six days of silent treatment from his eldest, until she became so attached to the cat that she wept when he threatened to toss it into the street for shredding his best boots.

Their third was born five years after. At seven, Marian had settled into having only one sister, and Evelyn quite agreed. On discovering their mother was with child again, they staged a peaceful protest and refused to eat dinner at all until Marian’s namesake dropped in on a surprise visit and threatened to dangle them from their ankles if they didn’t start behaving.

Bethany was born in the midst of a terrible snow storm, and Cassandra struggled a great deal. Varric read to his girls in the warmth of his study, aloud from a novel he had never published, written for his wife on her thirty-fifth birthday.

After their third, they agreed no more. Cassandra was given a medicine to make the process more difficult, and Varric was asked by the healer to restrain himself, or perhaps seek a mistress.

“A _mistress?_ ” Cassandra nearly threw her tea cup against a wall. “How _dare_ she imply, or even _suggest_ —”

“Seeker. It wasn’t meant to be a slight against you.”

“Well it certainly comes off as such,” she said. Her blood _boiled._

“It’s…a bit of a upper class tradition.”

“We are _hardly_ —”

“You’re married to the Viscount of Kirkwall,” Varric said quietly. “Seeker, we _are_ the upper class. Don’t take some idiot’s tradition as a personal insult.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I would _never_ find the same comfort with another woman as I find with you.” He paused. “But considered we know that another child isn’t _impossible_ , we should probably take some precautions.”

“Not until we have a dozen,” she said, softer now, and giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“You will be the death of me, wife.”

“Not before they are grown, husband.”

And so, for some time, the advice from the healers seemed to work. Varric and Cassandra found that, with three children and a city to care for, they often had little time or energy for lovemaking in the first place. And when summer came, and the Keep became too small for their blooming family, they became the first to leave it, and took up residence nearby. Varric found doing business from his home increased support from some, and that his office at the Keep was a bit of a refuge from the general noise and rabble that came with having three daughters.

Cassandra took her duties as the Viscount’s wife rather seriously. She attended functions, her glowing daughters in tow, and served on the board of their school. She was highly respected among the Templars for her history as a Seeker, and was considered something of an icon among the most religious Kirkwall. She felt not once that singly task or duty was beyond her, and funneled money toward educating the children of Lowtown and rejuvenating the foster system in the city. Under the rule of the Tethras family, Kirkwall became in only ten years a vibrant, thriving community.

She did not expect another child, and was perfectly happy with the three that she had been blessed with in the first place. It was, to Cassandra, truly a gift that she and Varric might have even one child at all. She was past forty, now, her husband past fifty. Marian was seventeen, Evelyn fifteen, Bethany twelve. Their girls were quite grown, quite beautiful, and certainly all they would need.

And then that familiar sickness came, and the healer that had been with them from the start looked at Cassandra and said with a smile, “I hope you’ve room for one more child in that heart of yours, Lady Tethras.”


	2. every good gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tense change is purposeful, i am not losing my mind i swear.

It is the worst storm in Kirkwall’s recent history. The branches from the great oak in their garden bash against the wall of their home, and Cassandra feels it with every rumble and roll of her muscles, telling her that her child is nearly here. She looks at the young nurse, pacing about, waiting for the doctor to come. “They will be here,” she says, as calmly as she can.

“‘Course you sound like an angel,” the girl mutters. “You’ve done this three times already. Bet you could teach me.”

“The important thing is to remain relaxed,” Cassandra manages, though was she wants to do is scream. She hears, finally, the front door open and shut, and the panicked cries of her daughters as their father returns with the doctor. Their fourth is early, according to the healer, by two weeks or so. Cassandra doesn’t fret. Marian had come sooner than expected, Bethany a bit later. Only Evelyn, punctual even from the moment of her birth, had arrived on time, almost down to the minute and hour.

“Ah, there she is.” The doctor comes in, shrugging out of his coat. Varric beams behind him, snow dusting his hair and shoulders. It tumbles onto Cassandra's cheeks as he moves and bends to kiss her brow.

“Won’t be long now,” he murmurs.

“The last one,” is all she says, and he chuckles.

“I think we can both agree on that, wife.”

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Tethras?”

“Fine.”

The doctor sighs. “You women never cease to amaze. Four children, Viscount. You should count yourself blessed she hasn’t strangled you in your sleep.”

“I’m sure she’s tried,” Varric says without a beat. “I’m going to check on the girls.”

“Tell them not to worry,” Cassandra calls out after him, just as a contraction takes her by surprise and she cries out. “ _Oh._ ”

“You _are_ allowed to tell me if it hurts,” the doctor says, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “That healer tells me you’re to have another daughter?”

“She says that,” Cassandra murmurs. The pain makes it difficult. “But I…I expect a son – _ah!_ ”

“ _Damn._ You’re there, aren’t you?”

“Yes. _Maker_ —” She grabs the doctor’s arm, and she knows her grip is steel, but he doesn’t flinch. A good man, this one. “Tell…tell Varric –” She gasps as another contraction hits her. “Get Marian. _Marian_.”

The doctor nods. “Send for the eldest,” he says, and the little nurse runs off as Cassandra _screams._

Her daughter rushes into the room, kneeling at her mother’s side and taking her hand. “Are you well?”

“I am fine, my love. I only—” She presses her lips together. “I only want you to be here. For yourself. You are certainly old enough. Let it not be a mystery to you.”

“Of course, mother. Of course.” Marian presses a kiss to her forehead. “What should I do?”

“Stay with me, until he is here.”

“You mean she.”

“No.” Cassandra smiles. “You will have a brother. That I am sure of.”

“Your healer will _shit_ ,” the doctor says, and smiles. “Right then, my dear. I think it’s time.”

“Do not be afraid,” Cassandra says to her daughter.

“Mother, how could I – _ah!_ ” She twists in pain as Cassandra squeezes her hand and begins to push.

 

* * *

 

It is the longest of her labors. Several hours pass, and Marian is there with her, through it all, as the storm rages on outside. She sings to her, recites the poems she knows from heart, and even the bits she remembers from _Swords and Shields._

“ _Come on_ ,” the doctor says. “We’re there, _we’re there_ , Mrs. Tethras, we certainly are!” He is the best doctor she’s had yet, and Cassandra has half a mind to keep him around. She can hardly think, hardly _breathe_ , though the tantalizing thought of _I am going to kill my husband_ does come to mind once or twice, perhaps even spoken out loud, if her daughter’s little gasps of surprise are any evidence of that.

And then –

That _sound._ As a girl Cassandra had not thought she could succumb to the trappings of motherhood, did not seem to understand the charm of an infant’s cry or the noise of a child’s laugh when they were endlessly amused. But hearing _that_ – hearing the noise of her youngest for the first time and feeling that great warmth rush over her as the doctor raises him – _him_ – up for her to see.

“Your son,” he says “You were right, it is a boy. This is your son.”

“A _boy_ ,” Marian says, breathless. “Mother, a _boy._ ”

“Yes.” She lays back and stares straight up. “Yes, it is.”

The doctor makes a noise. “Something is wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Marian stands, but her voice is so very far away.

“There shouldn’t be this much blood.” He looks at Marian. “You, grab that sheet and hold it here.”

“What do you _mean?_ ”

“ _Grab the sheet!_ ” the doctor shouts, but Cassandra doesn’t have the heart to ask him not to. Not when everything is growing so quiet.

 _A rest_ , she thinks. What she needs is just a rest. Her son is crying. _Daniel_ is crying. They had not agreed on a boy’s name, because Varric had been so sure they would have another daughter. Justine was to be her name, but Cassandra had known. How could she not?

“Daniel,” she murmurs, and she sees the soft face of her apprentice, smiling at her as his hand appears almost to be stretched out to her, pulling her close.

“Mother. _Mother!_ ” Marian shrieks, and Cassandra wants to tell her that it will be alright, that she is only resting, just for a moment. Just for a bit.

She closes her eyes.

 

* * *

 

“ _The Inquisitor looked ahead, and she seemed to appear, in that hall of nobles and royalty, to be made of steel and lace all at once. Iron and silk. Molten rock and perfume. Her head raised high, she called out, “We are not your enemy, Celine. The real one stands at your side. And she would see you dead before you had time for a single dance._ ”

Cassandra opens her eyes, the sound of her husband’s voice filling every sense as she grips the sheets. Varric’s hand is in her own a moment later, the grip gentle, but urgent. “ _Cassandra._ ”

“Varric—”

“ _Damn_. I need to get the healer, just…just hold on.” He kisses her forehead before running to the door and shouting for help. He turns back to her. “You scared the shit out of me,” he says, and she knows he is being calm for both their sakes. “Seeker.”

“Daniel,” she rasps.

“Seeker—”

“Our _son._ ”

Varric’s eyes, until now, have been nearly vacant, watching her. They light up at the name, and he smiles. “So that’s what you decided on.”

“I told you,” she manages. “I told you we would have a son.”

“Yeah, you did. Someday I’ll start listening.”

“Do not disparage yourself. Bring him to me.”

“Oh, he’s here, miss.” The healer comes in, their son in her arms. “You were right.”

“I was.” Cassandra eases herself up and reaches out to hold her child. “Come here, my love. My sweet boy.” She looks down at him, his tuft of red hair like Evelyn’s, his nose and mouth shaped like a heart like all his sisters’ were. She smiles. “Does the name please you, husband?”

“You’re _alive_ ,” Varric says. “Anything would please me.”

“I am glad. Where are the girls?”

“Merrill is here. She’s been entertaining them.”

“Send for them.”

Varric nods, pausing at the door. “Evelyn and Beth don’t…they don’t know about what happened. Marian hasn’t said.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“She’s very upset.”

“Then send for her first.” Cassandra looks down, listening to the even breathing of her son and closing her eyes. She is still exhausted, and she knows she must have lost a great deal of blood, to have left them all so quickly. She hears her daughter’s steps at the door, and opens her eyes to find the girl a mess.

“Oh, my _dear._ ”

“ _Mother._ ” Marian falls to her knees by Cassandra’s side, and weeps. “You’re _well._ You’re alright, I couldn’t—”

“You were so _brave._ Brave like your aunt, and your father, and like everyone I have known. I am so endlessly proud of you, my love.”

“Is he alright?”

“He is. Would you like to hold him?”

“Yes.” Marian reaches out and takes her brother in her arms. “Who is Daniel?”

“A very good friend from a very long time ago.”

“Is he dead?”

“He is.”

“Father thought you might call him Anthony.”

“No. Your uncle…he may keep his name for himself.”

“Perhaps as a middle name,” Marian says quietly.

“Actually—” Varric comes into the room with the rest of the girls in front of him. They rush to their sister and coo over their brother.

“Mother, he’s _beautiful._ ”

“I knew we’d get a brother,” Bethany says.

“You didn’t,” Marian snaps. “You bet coin with the cook that it’d be a girl, and now you owe her six nights of washing dishes.”

“I do _not!_ ”

“Girls!” Varric takes Daniel from them and sighs. “As I was _saying._ I, ah, may have…bet his middle name.”

Cassandra sighs. “Oh?”

“With Sparkler. Just a little thing, last time he was around. He thought you carried yourself like you were having a boy, and I told him we didn’t have a good track record with anything but girls, and he insisted. So I told him if it really was a boy, we’d, um, we’d name him after Dorian. Middle name only.”

Cassandra blinks. “You did.”

“Yes.”

“And if you do not?”

“You know, I don’t know. Probably nothing too terrible would happen.”

Cassandra raises a hand. “No,” she says. “A bet is a bet.”

“Daniel Dorian,” Evelyn says quietly. “It’s got a nice ring.”

“It does,” Marian says. “Can we keep that, mother? I rather like it.”

She sighs, leaning back and closing her eyes. “Yes, alright. We will never hear the end of it from that _insufferable_ mage, I hope you know.”

“We wouldn’t have either way,” Varric says with a shrug. “Come on, girls. Your mother needs her rest.”

 

* * *

 

It takes Cassandra some days to get back on her feet. Her doctor reminds her that she is not young, and wasn’t young when she began having children. “You must be careful, my dear. You’re nearing fifty.”

“Having children later means you live longer,” the healer says. “You have to grow old to see them have babes of their own.”

“That’s all well and good, but she must take _care_ not to have another. I don’t believe you’d make it.”

Cassandra blinks. She’s never really been told not to do something because it might kill her. Not in all seriousness. “I…would it?”

“Yes. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Andraste was watching over you,” the healer says, and squeezes Cassandra’s hand.

“That, or we stopped the bleeding and we had the right herbs on hand,” the doctor mutters. “I will discuss options with your husband. I know you’re both set on defying fate and popular opinion, but I believe _four_ half-dwarven children is enough for you both right now, don’t you agree?”

“Of course,” Cassandra says, and hands off her breakfast dishes. “There will be no more Tethras children from me, I assure you.”

“Good. I’d rather not get the call that you’ve left us, my dear. You’re one of the finest women this city has had the good fortune to know. Take care of yourself, please.”

“Certainly.” Cassandra smiles and watches the doctor go. “What do you think he’ll speak with Varric about?”

“Oh, some newfangled thing designed to keep husbands from being so damn fertile.” Cassandra snorts with laughter. “You giggle, but it’s true. Just needs a mage, probably. Or a good zap to the balls.”

“Varric would not approve.”

“Of course not.”

“And for me?”

“Hmm?”

“What of my own body?”

The healer sighs. “You’ve born your last babe, love. Your clock’s winding down. I don’t think you’re going to have much of a problem with this any longer. It’s natural, you know. It happens to us all.”

“I have been blessed,” Cassandra agrees.

“You have. The Maker does seem to love this family.”

“I should hope so,” Cassandra says quietly. “We have certainly paid our dues.”


	3. in the winter house

Varric had not intended on having all his children in the winter. In truth, he had not planned on having children at all. They had spoken of adoption, once, before Marian, and even again after her. But now, with four of them constantly shouting or singing or laughing or crying – they had decided in near unison that it was quite enough.

Cassandra insists he continue working, despite the fact that she nearly _bled_ to death in their own house, and has yet to move more than a handful of steps around the bedroom. The doctor had insisted she remain in bed, and placed Varric on constant guard duty. But his wife was convincing, and the idea that Bran might be pacing the floor in front of his office in terror was enough to get him back to work, reluctantly leaving his son behind to go back to the duties of running his city.

When he finally returns home that first night, it is early yet, and the house is warm. Varric stands at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes closed, listening to the noises of his family above.

Marian sings at night, a soft noise she thinks no one can hear.

Evelyn reads, and she also writes, Varric knows this, though she has shown him nothing. He hears the scratch of her pen late at night when she thinks the rest of the world has gone to bed, and it is only she and hear words to keep her company.

Bethany plaits and replaits her hair, usually at her mother’s feet, or at the foot of her parents’ bed. She is not there tonight, though. Varric spots light spilling out from under her door, and he taps on it quietly as he passes, waiting for permission to enter.

“Da!” Her face brightens immediately, tossing one of her school books to the side. Varric smiles and closes the door behind him. “You’re home early.”

“It’s cold out.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It isn’t, this is true. You seem glum, sprout. What’s eating you?”

Bethany sighs dramatically and flops against the pillows of her bed. Varric comes to sit beside her. “Oh, it’s just the struggle of no longer being the youngest. I’ll be thirteen in _three days_ , da. Practically an adult.”

“Practically nothing, you. You’re still little Beth to everyone.”

“Yes, well, I certainly don’t _feel_ it.”

“Hardly anyone does, at thirteen.”

She sighs and rolls to her side to look at him. “You were the youngest, right da?”

“I was.”

“What was it like for you?”

Varric sighs, reaching out to stroke her hair. “Very different. I didn’t go to school, and I didn’t have many things.”

“I don’t have a lot of _things._ ”

“No. But you’ve got a bed and plenty of dresses and more dolls than you know what to do with.”

“Mama wants to give them to the orphanage for Satinalia. Most of them, anyway.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Marian thinks so, too. She always agrees with mama.”

“They think the same.”

Beth pouts. “I wish I thought like mama.”

“Why?”

“She’s beautiful and clever and _poised._ Evelyn called her that before Daniel was born. I don’t know what it means, but I do like it.”

“It means graceful.”

“See? Mama gets to be all these wonderful things, and Marian is just like her. Evelyn’s _smart_ and everyone at school thinks she’s some sort of genius.” She looks at him. “What’s left for me, da?”

“Everything.” He kisses her forehead. “You think like me, I suppose. But you’re exactly who you are, Beth. You shouldn’t want to be so much like anyone else. You are very special, and I love you a great deal.”

“You’ll buy me a pony for Satinalia then, won’t you?”

“Absolutely not.”

She sighs, tucking herself against him and closing her eyes. “Terrible father,” she murmurs. “The very worst.”

Varric watches her for a moment, and waits until she is finally asleep to get her under her blanket and hop down from his bed. His children long surpassed him in height at the age of eleven, but he suffers from an ailment he suspects most father’s with growing children do – the ache for them to be small enough to carry to bed once again, and soothe away all their fears. He doesn’t know how to quell Beth’s budding inadequacy. In truth, she is more like him than he’d like her to be, but Cassandra forbade him from comparing their children to themselves long ago.

He closes the door behind him, listens for the scratch of Evelyn’s pen, and the quiet murmurs of his eldest’s voice before ascending the stairs once more, and finding his wife sitting up in bed, feeding their son. He watches, and he is amazed.

“You’re home early,” she says quietly, not looking up.

“I am.”

“You didn’t leave Bran to finish the work.”

“No, he went home. Hawke’s here.”

“That is good for him, I think.” Cassandra finally raises her head and smiles. “Come to bed, my love. We are almost finished.

Varric nods, shucking off his tunic and breeches, kicking his boots away. He is exhausted, and his back aches, but the permits for the Satinalia festival have been signed and sent, and the gifts for his children’s birthdays are to be delivered within the week. December is always a busy month for them – the chill makes him sluggish, but the need to _do, do, do_ is great.

He returns to bed and finds Cassandra putting Daniel to sleep.

“How do you feel?” Varric asks quietly. She turns to him and shrugs.

“Tired. It was…draining. More so than Beth. The healer says we are blessed.”

“I’ve gotten that a lot lately.”

“Perhaps we are.” Cassandra slides under the covers and puts out the candle. “I do not like to dwell on such sentiments. Perhaps the Maker spared me from death during childbirth, but I have bared and raised my children without His help.” She reaches out and stokes Varric’s cheek. “ _You_ have been there. My tried and tested partner through it all.”

“I couldn’t have a better place.” Varric kisses the palm of her hand. “Bethany is feeling down.”

“Someone told me she might, but I cannot remember who. The healer, perhaps, in passing. I always worry for her though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. There is something about her upset that troubles me. I worry she will resent her sisters, or us. Me, in particular.”

“She adores you. You’re her mother.”

Cassandra sighs. “You are not a daughter, or a mother, so I will not fault you for not understanding. But on occasion, when we are young girls, we do not know whether to treat the women in our lives as friends or enemies. It is not a probably of personality of chemistry. It’s…the way we are raised. School will do that to a child, I suspect.”

“So you’re saying we should pull them out? Because I for one do not like their teachers.”

“You’re only upset because they read Genitivi.”

“I _like_ Genitivi. He’s a nice man. He’s dryer than flour, but he’s nice.”

Cassandra kisses his nose. “You are a silly man, my love. Let Beth be Beth. She is a girl, still. Thirteen is trying.”

“We lived very different lives at thirteen.”

“She lives a charmed one, this is true.”

Varric closes his eyes. “Hopefully it stays that way.”

 

* * *

 

The cough starts in February. Varric could not be more impatient for Wintersend – Cassandra is planning a hundred things, their son is growing, and the snow is melting.

And still, Varric does not feel well.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, this near constant feeling of exhaustion. He can’t quite place it, and chalks it up to the fact that he’s fifty-five and moving forward, and has lived through things most men don’t dream of. Certainly it could weaken a dwarf’s constitution in the winter, and he doesn’t think much of it.

And then he wakes Cassandra, and the baby, and she kicks him out of the bedroom.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks in the morning, to which he responds, “ _I’ll call the damn doctor._ ” She smiles and drops a kiss on the top of his head.

The doctor looks him over at his office in the Keep, clucks his tongue and folds his arms over his chest. “You need to rest, sir.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Delegate. You’re getting old.”

“I’m not that old,” he grumbles.

“You aren’t young, either. And you’ve lived three lives all on your own. You can’t expect to not _feel_ something. He scribbles something down and passes it off. “Give this to that healer your wife adores so well. She’ll make you something up. And drink _tea_ , Viscount. Not a drop of whiskey til Wintersend.”

“You don’t run this city,” Varric mutters.

“No, but I would prefer you continue doing so.” He puts a hand on Varric’s shoulder. “We have never prospered so well, sir. Give my regards to Daniel. I’ll be by in a few weeks to check on him.”

Varric rests on the carriage ride home. It’s still snowing, and it will until March, most likely. He lets the footman help him down, and trudges toward the door. It swings open before he can touch it, and standing there in all his splendor is Dorian Pavus.

“ _Sparkler!_ ”

“Varric.” He’s holding Daniel, and absolutely beaming. “You didn’t write in your letter that the boy was so _dashing._ Must get that from some relative we’ve never met.” Daniel wriggles in his arms, and Dorian passes him off as Varric reaches out. “Ah, he knows what’s what, doesn’t he?”

“There’s my boy. He’s handsome, isn’t he?”

“Very.” Dorian pushes the door shut behind them. “Your lovely wife is in the sitting room. Your daughters have been entertaining me for _hours._ I can’t believe it’s been six years.”

“Since you saw them? Yeah, it…rushes by, doesn’t it?”

“We must have you back to Tevinter again. Things are ten times better than last fall.” Dorian leads him into the kitchen, pouring a cup of tea. “So many things have changed. Has it _been_ almost twenty years?”

“It has.”

“Maker, we’re getting old.”

Varric sighs. “I keep hearing that to—” He chokes, coughing into his elbow and nearly dropping his son. Daniel begins to cry. “S-sorry, sorry, bean.”

“What is the matter?” Cassandra comes into the kitchen. “Oh, _Maker_ , Varric. Did you—”

“ _Yes,_ ” he snaps. “The doctor came by. It’s being taken care of.” Cassandra takes Daniel from him, frowning. “Don’t look at me that way.”

“Don’t _speak_ to me that way.”

They stare one another down, until Dorian steps between them and clears his throat. “Just like old times, yes? You, with your _burgeoning_ sexual tension, only now with the, ah, _results._ ” He smiles. “I’ll just…go see the girls.” He shuts the door to the kitchen behind him. Varric sighs.

“I didn’t mean for that—”

“You must take your health more seriously. We are not adventurers any longer, Varric. Not in the traditional sense.” She shifts Daniel to her other hip. “You have a _family._ We both do, now. There are certain things we must do.”

“You think I don’t know that? I don’t need to be reminded of my responsibilities, Seeker. Not with a dozen contracts sitting on my desk every morning, and the Guild breathing down my neck the last seventeen years, and _you_ , always riding my ass about _duty_ and loyalty to _family_ , as if I don’t _understand_ —”

“Then why are you choking on your own breath? Why are you waking me in the middle of the night, waking your son, your _daughters_ with your illness? I have been _begging_ you for months now. This should not be a surprise. You cannot let these things sneak up on you. You are not some _rogue_ who can flit away any time he feels like it—”

“Well sometimes that would sure be _nice_ —” He begins coughing again, but Cassandra only stares. “Shit, Seeker. _Shit,_ I’m sorry—”

She shakes her head, moving toward the door. “That is enough, for one evening. Find somewhere to sleep. It will not be in our bed.”

 

* * *

 

“Varric—”

“Not a _word_ , Sparkler.”

“I wasn’t going to speak about your little tiff, you know. I was only going to say, that this is an awful lot like all those nights, so long ago.” Dorian chuckles. “You and me in a tent, your lady love so far away. Where _is_ Trevelyan?”

“Orlais, with Ranier.”

“How nice for them. Did they ever end up having children?”

“No. She couldn’t. Didn’t let it stop her, though. They adopted.”

“They were a great deal of orphans, after the war.”

“There were.” Varric closes his eyes. They lay in silence for a bit.

Dorian sighs. “She’s right, you know.”

“She usually is.”

“You must take better care of yourself.” Varric grunts in response. “I know you’re not good at accepting the _fawning_ and such—”

“Doesn’t it ever become…too much?”

Dorian shifts. “You mean all the magister nonsense and running an imperium and squashing narrow-minded idiots?”

“Yeah.”

“It does. I often remind myself of where we’d be if I weren’t there. Does _wonders_ for my ego, but it also gives me nightmares, truthfully.”

“You’ve done well.”

“I’ve tried my very best, Varric. As have you. Now, if we’re going to be sharing a bed for the evening, I’ll implore you to go to sleep. I’m terribly exhausted.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“I am. Goodnight, Varric.”

“Goodnight, Dorian.”

 

* * *

 

It’s early when he opens the door to their bedroom and finds her already away, nursing Daniel. She looks up when he enters, sighing and reaching out her hand. “Close the door, my love.”

“How is he?”

“Fine, just fine. How are you?”

“Bruised. Sparkler kicks in his sleep, just like he always did.”

Cassandra nods as Varric crawls into bed beside her, leaning against her shoulder. She kisses his forehead. “My love—”

“I was an idiot, last night. I’m sorry.”

“I only worry for you,” she murmurs. “We have responsibilities to more than just ourselves. This city needs you, and your children need their father. You cannot leave any of them, not just yet.” She pauses. “I need you, too, Varric. Very much.” She pulls Daniel away and covers herself, moving to pat his back. “I know he was a surprise—”

“I don’t regret it. I don’t regret any of it, Cassandra.”

“Then please, for everyone’s sake, take better care of yourself.” Daniel gives a burp and she stands to put him back to bed. “I would see us live many more years together.” She sighs and looks out the window. “I won’t be going to bed again now.”

“Neither will I.”

“Tea, then, I think.” She kisses him. “And you’ve a recipe for the healer. Come now, husband.” She lifts a sleeping Daniel in her arms and opens the door to the hall. “Let us make you well again.”

Varric nods, standing and watching her pad softly down the stairs. He is _lucky_ , he knows this. He is _blessed_ , and he knows this as well. He has lived more lives in one of his own than most are lucky to even know.

It’s five in the morning. He passes Marian’s room, and she is still asleep. Evelyn is scribbling away, and Beth is beginning to roll out of bed.

He looks outside, and sees the first hints of green blooming on the oak in the garden.


End file.
